


House of the rising...

by anniehow



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Dean is Bad at Feelings, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Episode: s13e01 (Supernatural), Gen, Hurt Castiel, Hurt Dean Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, POV Sam Winchester, Post-Episode: s12e23 All Along the Watchtower, Post-Season/Series 12, Pre-Season/Series 13, cas is also bad at feelings, dean is the worst wingman, gratuitous wet shirt scene, heavy on the speculation based on spoilers, the one where Cas comes back Darcy-style
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-01
Packaged: 2019-01-07 15:15:19
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,920
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235443
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anniehow/pseuds/anniehow
Summary: They left the place at dawn the following day. In less than forty-eight hours they had lost half their family, and gained a nephilim.The drive back was uneventful. Sam couldn’t help but feel that it was simply the calm before the inevitable shit-storm.Werein Sam is apparently the only functional adult without a death wish, Dean doesn't handle worry very well, Cas comes back Darcy-style, and Jack is a newly-minted being who is cycling through the sort of issues TFW is very familiar with. And featuring as many meta references as I could fit in.





	House of the rising...

**Author's Note:**

> Who's excited for season 13? Whoo hoo! \o/

Dawn was breaking by the time he made it back outside.

Sam had collected himself before opening the door, unsure of what he’d find, but the scene was simply quiet and beautiful, with that early-morning-glory vibe of a lake lying at the foot of the mountains. The sky was lighting up, the stars were fading in the background, and mom was gone and Castiel was lying dead in the dirt.

Sam took a shaky breath and walked over to his brother.

Dean was sitting on the ground, holding Cas’ body propped up from behind, arms wound tightly around him. Sam could see the top of Dean’s bowed head, but his face was hidden, buried in Cas’ shoulder. He was humming ‘Hey Jude’ so softly under his breath that Sam thought he might be imagining it. By contrast the angel’s ( _his friend_ ) head had lolled awkwardly to the side, and his face had gone slack, eyes open and unmistakably dead.

Sam stood over them for a long moment, staring at the point where the rift had swallowed mom and Lucifer.

Trapped in a hellish world with Lucifer. Of all the things he’d wished he could have in common with his mother, things to talk about and bond over, this was _not_ a scenario he had ever even considered.

He refocused his attention closer, and squatted down next to his brother and their dead friend. Dean ignored him until Sam reached out and closed Cas’ eyes.

With a deep breath, Dean looked up and uncurled a little. Sam was surprised to see that his brother appeared to be calm and his face a little pale, but was apparently entirely dried-eyed.

“You ok?”, Dean grunted.

“Yeah,” Sam answered. “You?”

Dean nodded.

“We… need to bury Kelly,” Sam tried, and Dean nodded again.

“Pyre. Deserves a proper send off.”

“We’ll have to make one for Cas too.”

Dean didn’t reply immediately, tightening his hold for a second. Sam was afraid an argument was about to come up, but then Dean nodded a third time, looking perhaps resigned and dejected, or even defeated. He lowered Cas back down to the dirt, in the middle of the ragged scorch marks of now-gone wings, and let Sam pull him up to his feet.

They set to work silently. They had built pyres so many times by now that they didn’t even need to talk to each other to coordinate. They could tell the best place at a glance, and they knew the type of wood needed, and how much. Sam scoured the woods for some longer branches needed for the outer structure, while Dean hauled all the firewood staked by the house.

The early morning dew made everything around him shimmer, but it was shit for firewood. A pretty, useless sight. _Heh_ , Sam smirked to himself. _Pretty useless_. No one to share it with. So many dead because he had trusted the Brits (Eileen, god, _Eileen_ ). Mom gone and probably being tortured that very moment and never coming back. Everything was wet. They were going to light the pyre with their friend on it and it was going to smoke and hiss and-

A sob broke out suddenly out of Sam’s throat while he was smack dab in the middle of the trees, alone. He hadn’t expected it, but once he started he simply kept going. He cried, on and off, through the entire process of building the pyre. Dean never shed a single tear.

They wrapped Kelly up in the bed linens, and even put the fresh flowers they found around the house with her. After lighting her up and standing respectfully for a moment, they went back to work for Cas.

Jack observed them from a window the entire time. Dean asked if they were going to have a problem, but Sam said no, not for now, so they left him be.

Before wrapping Cas up in one of the sheets, Sam asked Dean if he wanted to keep the trench coat. Dean was taken aback by the question, and for a moment his calm demeanor wobbled. He looked at Sam, stricken. “I can’t. It’s his.” Sam didn’t argue the point, and they just finished their work.

They stood guard and kept both fires burning until all that was left were ashes, which they then swept into the lake.

They left the place at dawn the following day. In less than forty-eight hours they had lost half their family, and gained a nephilim. The drive back was uneventful. Sam couldn’t help but feel that it was simply the calm before the inevitable shit-storm.

 

* * *

 

If the first time they had driven to the lake cabin they’d been frantic to beat Lucifer to the punch, the second time… Sam wasn’t sure what the hell was going on the second time, but Jack had said something about having figured out the ‘grip of death’ and how to break it, and Dean had hauled them all off right back to that damn lake. Sam had actually gotten nauseous, but whether it was from the reckless driving or the worry over this being a massive misunderstanding (and they’d had more than their share of them with Jack over the past few weeks) he couldn’t say.

Misgivings aside, when they’d reached the lake Dean had frog-marched Jack right to the edge. The nephilim had dipped his hands with a smug flourish, and the entire body of water had lit up.

And then nothing.

Several moments passed, and then Jack’s face crumpled and he started crying in frustration, working himself up into a tantrum. Dean, meanwhile, was absolutely furious, and had stomped right off, so it was Sam who noticed the dark blob appearing in the middle of the lake, slowly making its way to the shore.

“Hey!”, he yelled, catching both their attention. Early morning mist was still rising from the trees all around them, and rolling across the lake, but within moments the dark blob coalesced into a dark head, and started to move faster in their direction.

Dean waded out until the water was up to his knees, and then froze into place, waiting.

Sam held his breath. _Please_ , he thought. _One more miracle. Please_.

As soon as he reached shallow waters, Castiel stood up, water pouring down from his sodden clothes, alive. He walked purposefully towards Dean and they hugged, hard and long, before they both stepped back onto the pebbled beach.

“Hi Sam,” Cas greeted, voice even more wreaked than what Sam remembered. Sam pulled him into a tight hug of his own, even though his friend was wet and icy like a drowned corpse. He could feel him breathing and, when he paid attention to it, he could even feel a heartbeat through the water-logged clothes.

Cas was white as a sheet and his lips were blue. The fact that he wasn’t shivering wasn’t necessarily a good sign.

Dean grabbed Cas by the wrist. “You’re going to freeze to death, and then we’ll be back to square one.”

“That’s easily avoidable,” Cas replied, shaking him off. He shrugged out of his trench coat and his jacket in one go, dropping them to the ground, and went for his tie before either brother could say anything. His white shirt was plastered to his body, effectively transparent. Sam couldn’t see any wounds, or any remnant of wounds. He did note that Cas had a lot more muscle mass than he’d given him credit for up until now.

Dean was gaping.

It seemed that all the adulting was falling to Sam these days. “Let’s get you inside and dry you up,” he cajoled. “Both of you.”

“What about my mom?”

The three of them turned to watch Jack. The nephilim was looking expectantly at the lake, and then back at Castiel. “Is she coming?”

“You must be Jack,” Cas greeted, stepping towards him. Their eyes lit up for a moment, blue and gold, as they regarded one another warily. “Your mother’s soul is in heaven. There’s nothing here but remnants of her physical body. I’m sorry, but that’s not enough to bring her back.”

“How come you came back, then?”

Castiel glanced at the Winchesters before attempting an answer. “My Grace was spent here. And I heard the call.”

“Wait, you what??” Dean stepped forward, jamming his finger in Cas’ chest. “I’ve been praying-!”

“I know.”

“You… and you only answer _now_?”

“I wouldn’t have answered the summons at all if it wasn’t for your prayers. But I couldn’t pull myself back together on my own, Dean. I don’t have that kind of power. No angel does.”

“Right,” Dean breathed, anger dissolving, and something suspiciously close to tenderness spreading across his face. “Well, if I’m freezing, you must be fucking miserable. Let’s do a little B&E and warm up.”

“We don’t usually do this, Jack,” Sam felt the need to clarify.

 

* * *

 

After all this time where Dean seemed to cycle between only two moods (homicidal rage and apathy), now that Cas was back he declared a season of celebration. Out drinking at a different bar every night, flirting with every woman that so much as looked either in his or Cas’ direction, and quickly sleeping his way through all the willing ones he could charm. Sam had grown exasperated with his antics before the week was out, but would tag along just to keep Castiel company while Dean was being an asshole.

Dean kept pushing women at Cas, and when the angel inevitably failed to follow through, he’d claim a duty to satisfy the lady, and off they’d go.

Castiel was clearly growing more and more uncomfortable with each instance, but Dean was determined to get him laid. “You’re a virgin again, Cas! You get to make up for the crappy first time you had with that reaper!”

“I’m really not interested in carnal congress with human women, Dean. The risk for an angel is too high, as we’re reminded daily.”

Jack was… well. Sam wasn’t thinking about it just now.

Some type of trade fair had blown into town, bringing lots of strangers to their usual watering holes. Dean was busy ‘teaching pool’ to a blonde in a power suit, while Sam and Cas nursed a Belgian beer courtesy of a guy who was really into marathon running. He was telling them about the various places he’d travelled to to run, Cas occasionally remarking that he’d seen them as well, while Sam listened with interest. The guy didn’t have much range, but he was nice and had a good sense of humor.

At a certain point he made Castiel smile with a detailed recount of the Tokyo marathon he’d run two years previously, and Sam noted the guy suddenly leaning way more into his friend’s direction, and basically cutting Sam out of the conversation. Thinking this was likely to be a better ‘teaching experience’ than any Dean had thrown his way recently, Sam quietly stood up and went to sit at the bar on his own.

One moment he was chatting amicably with the bartender, and the next Dean was standing right next to him.

“Where’s Cas?”

Sam looked back at their table, now deserted. “I left him with Steve maybe half an hour ago? I dunno man.”

“Steve? Who’s _Steve_?”

“One of the salesmen of the group?” he gestured vaguely around the bar, packed with people in suits. “He was really into Cas, I just gave them a little room.”

“Oh! Of course! Leave him with ‘Steve the salesman’! Did you at least check him?”

“Dude, it’s Cas. One, he just needs a glance to see true faces, and two, he can take care of himself.”

“Let’s… not go there.” Dean pulled out his cell and checked it. “He’s still around here somewhere. Come on.”

“Dean, let him-“

But Dean had already taken off and Sam, fearing for Steve, shot right after him.

Their search ended five minutes later, after making sure the toilets and the back lot where empty, or at least empty of their friend (Sam was pretty sure he’d spotted the woman Dean had been flirting with in the company of another guy). They found Cas and Steve out front, leaning against the Impala and looking up at the stars. They had darker beer bottles now, and Castiel was pointing out stars to Steve, who was hanging on his every word.

“There you are!” Dean greeted with false cheer. “Who’s your friend, Cas?”

“Dean, this is Steve. We were comparing the view of the Milky Way from here to the one in Australia.”

“Out in the Bush,” Steve added, immediately straightening and sizing Dean up. “I ran a high-endurance 24h hyper-run there last winter. Goes through the night.” He gave Dean a firm, salesman handshake and held direct eye contact. Dean grinned, dimples showing.

“Cas has a remarkable memory for detail,” Steve continued warmly, shooting Cas a little admiring smile.

“That he does,” Dean agreed, going from a grin to a full-toothed smile and clapping a hand on his friend’s shoulder.

Cas, who, as far as Sam had seen, had been enjoying himself but had also been essentially oblivious to Steve’s flirtations, was starting to look uncomfortable.

“I mentioned the Impala and Steve suggested we come see it,” he said, a little defensively.

“Yes. I’m not much for cars myself, but even I can tell it’s a real beauty.”

“Dean is a wonderful mechanic,” Cas said, brightening up. “He’s fixed my truck, and plenty of other cars. He can fix anything on wheels.”

Sam saw Steve’s face fall slightly.

“Interesting. So… wanna show me your truck?”

“Oh. I, hum, lost it.”

Before Steve could ask how exactly one ‘loses’ a truck, Dean plucked Cas’ beer out of his hand, took a swig, made a face, and handed it back. “Yeah, and we’re leaving, so… nice meeting you, Steve.”

“Dean, I’m-“

“I could give you a lift, if you wanna stay,” Steve tried urgently, reaching out a hand.

Castiel looked at the proffered hand and put his beer in it. “Thank you, but it’s better that you don’t drive me where we’re going. It’s supposed to stay a secret.”

“Oh god, let’s just go,” Sam groaned, by now embarrassed on behalf of all of them. “Sorry dude. Better luck next time.” He clapped Steve on the back and nudged him out of Dean’s way. Dean smirked at him again, before hopping into the driver’s seat and revving up the engine unnecessarily.

They left Steve standing alone in the middle of the parking lot, staring dejectedly after them and holding both his and Cas’ unfinished fancy beers.

Dean stopped suggesting bars after that.

 

* * *

 

Sam’s plan was to get up early for a jog, then a nice long shower before anyone was up and about, followed by one of Dean’s hot breakfasts.

Instead the moment he stepped out of his room he found a streak of symbols painted in blood all along the hallway, and several lightbulbs dead and blackened.

“DEAN!”

His brother staggered out of his room, instantly waking up as soon as he saw the bloody mess.

With a silent nod, they armed themselves and started sweeping the bunker noiselessly. They found Jack in the war room, sitting cross-legged on the table, looking mighty confused. Underneath him there was an intricately designed protective circle, also in blood.

“Castiel said to wait here for him. Can I get up now?” He pouted, bored.

“When was this?”

“About six hours ago? A little after you guys went to ‘sleep’. So _lame_.”

“Stay put,” Dean growled, making Jack roll his eyes but slumping back down obligingly.

They found more symbols on the front door, and in the kitchen. The ones outside the shooting range were fresher. Finally they reached the garage, where they found Cas slumped in front of the outside doors. They were covered with glistening runes, and the stink of blood was wafting around the entire room.

Cas was in his shirtsleeves, arms soaked in red from the elbows down. He was also about as white as Sam had ever seen him. Even his lips had absolutely no color to them.

Dean immediately put his gun away and ran to their friend’s side, hands going for the face as Cas blinked lethargically up at him. Sam held his guard until Cas spoke.

“You’re safe. I put the wards up in time.”

“Cas! What’s happening?”

He was still bleeding sluggishly from both forearms, slashed open lengthways with his own angel blade, which laid forgotten to the side. Dean and Sam took Cas’ tie and belt to make tourniquets.

Castiel looked at them blankly, clearly confused. “You’re safe,” he repeated, slowly. “The wards.”

“What about them?” Sam prompted, as they raised his arms above his head, trying to stop the bleeding.

But Cas just blinked hard again. “What?”

“You’re ok, we’re all ok,” Dean started babbling under his breath. He shot Sam a look, then left him there to try and keep Cas stable while he sprinted back into the bunker.

“Hi Sam,” Cas whispered.

“Hey, Cas,” Sam smiled at him, tensely.

“I think Dean is mad at me,” he said with a sigh.

“No, Cas, he’s just worried. We don’t like it when you get hurt, remember? We talked about this before.”

“I had to,” he bristled.

“I understand, but you could have at least asked for help. We’re right here.”

Castiel frowned. “But you _are_ helping me. Why do I have to ask?”

Dean burst back into the garage, carrying their heavy-duty first aid kit and a couple of towels thrown over his shoulders.

“You have got to stop doing this, Cas. You’re going to give me a heart attack,” Dean chided as they each set to work on one of Cas’ arms.

“Sorry,” came the automatic reply, followed by a frown.

They poured disinfectant over the wounds, laid down the clean towels and his arms over them, and cracked open two suture kits they had pilfered from an ambulance at a crime scene a few weeks earlier.

“I’m an angel. I’ve done this countless times before, it’s a sound tactic. It achieves the result.”

“Shut up,” Dean growled. The brothers started stitching up simultaneously.

“Cas, remember when you told me I was precious to you? And that the price of losing me wasn’t worth anything?”

Dean shot him a funny look. Yeah, Sam hadn’t discussed this with his brother, because it was something between him and Cas. Also, he may have been rightfully pissed at Dean at the time. No matter now.

It was still one of the nicest things anyone had ever said to him.

“Well, you’re our friend, and you’re precious to us, too. Losing you isn’t worth it either, ok?”

Cas didn’t reply, he just looked equally touched and confused. Sam wasn’t sure he had gotten through to him, but at least he hoped it was a step in the right direction.

Dean looked chastened, even though Sam was dead sure his brother shared his sentiment, and had been saved the trouble of saying it out loud to boot.

Jack wandered in shortly after. “What’s that?”, he pointed to the sigil.

“A protective ward,” Cas replied tiredly.

“Why?”

“It hides us from anyone investigating that power surge from last night.”

“Wait, which power surge are we talking about here?”

Jack shifted uneasily from one foot to the other. One good thing about the nephilim was that he definitely hadn’t learned how to lie yet.

“Cas? Jack?” Dean continued, anger mounting.

“I thought I could take a peek into a parallel universe,” Jack admitted sheepishly. “Look for your mom and my dad. Huh, it didn’t work. Also, you need to buy some new lightbulbs.”

“Our mother is _gone_ , and so is your dad, and good riddance to him!” Dean hissed. “Look at the mess you’ve made!”

“Dean,” Sam chided, just as Jack defensively claimed he was going to clean it all up.

“No, Sam, this is your fault too! You have got to let mom _go_. Stop putting ideas in his head. Look at what happened to Cas!”

“I make my own decisions,” Cas growled, instantly pissed.

“You died! Now you’ve nearly bled out!”

“It’s not _my_ fault,” Jack cried. “That’s so unfair! I only wanted to help!”

“Stop helping, Jack. You only make things worse,” Dean spat savagely.

Jack went red in the face. Sam thought he was going to burst into tears and throw a tantrum, as usually happened when he got upset, but apparently this time his indignation took over because he stood his ground as tears and snot streamed down his face. “DO NOT!”

He lunged forward and took Castiel by the hands. There was a double, blinding flash of light, blue and gold, so intense that even though Sam had closed his eyes as soon as possible, he was still only seeing white for several long moments afterwards. His face, his hands, all his uncovered skin tingled as if he’d been standing in the sun all day.

He could hear and feel Castiel panting, still sitting between the two brothers.

“Cas?” Dean called, frightened.

“I… huh… huh…”

His eyesight finally came back. Castiel appeared healed, if a little windswept and wide-eyed. In fact, he looked like he’d just received an electric shot. He turned to look in turn at Sam and Dean, a big smile splitting his face in a way Sam couldn’t recall ever seeing.

He blinked, and Cas was gone. A gust of wind shot between the two brothers, and a rustle of feathers, a distinctive sound Sam hadn’t heard in years, echoed faintly.

They got up off the floor. Dean looked around, a little frantically, and called for Cas again. Sam went to Jack, who was still sniffling and hugging himself miserably.

Presently, heralded by a breeze that ruffled Sam’s hair, Castiel re-appeared.

“My wings! Dean, my wings! I can fly again! I never thought-“ he marched up to Jack, and took him gently by the shoulders. “Thank you,” he said with feeling, “but you must never do this again. The wards covered your magic, otherwise you’d have all of the remaining angels clamoring to get at you right now.”

“I don’t _want_ to do it again,” Jack sniffled. He showed them the palms of his hands, blistered and badly burnt. “It hurt.”

“You won’t have to. I’ll make sure of it,” Castiel vowed.

“Cas,” Sam called hesitantly. “Are you-?”

“ _Whole_ ,” he replied, still amazed. He reached out to the brothers. “Sam, would you like to visit the archives of the Louvre? Dean, would you like to have pie from your favorite place in Wisconsin, every day? I can do it for you, again. I can really be useful-“

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, hold on!” Dean waved Cas’ hand down, and grabbed him by the elbow. “Don’t you go disappearing on us now, ok? That’s all I’m asking. Please, Cas. Just… stick around? And don’t attract attention from the other angels by flitting all over the place. You can still use the car I fixed up for you. It’s all gassed up and I got the tape deck working again… much better than angel taxi, any day.”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas said quietly. The angel and his brother shared a long look.

Sam cleared his throat.

“When do _I_ get _my_ wings?” Jack demanded suddenly.

“Nephilim don’t have wings,” Cas relied apologetically.

“That sucks! Why is my life so _unfair_?”

“Shut up,” said Dean.

“I’m sorry,” said Castiel.

Sam just sighed. He could empathize with that sentiment, however misplaced.

 

* * *

 

“Where’s Cas?”

Dean paused from his meticulous gun polishing session and slowly turned to look at Sam.

“What do you mean ‘where’s Cas’? I thought the two of you were busy teaching Jack how to shoot. Like that kid needs to be any more deadly…”

“No, his hands still ache, so he got himself a book and holed up in his room. I just went by and he’s listening to blues at full volume. Dean, where did he get blues music?”

“There’s a whole collection of vinyls left from the fifties, I told you a bunch of times. At least the Men of Letters weren’t into heavy metal. What about Cas?”

“He said he was going to get something for Jack’s hands, but I haven’t seen him since. This was this morning.”

“Great,” Dean threw down the rag he was using and pulled out his phone. “And his phone’s off. Or out of range. Just peachy.” Without wasting time, he pulled up a geo-tracking app.

“Maybe he’s flying. He seems to have really missed it,” Sam suggested.

“Or maybe he took his car out for a joyride to… the fucking hospital? What the fuck is he doing at the county hospital? And why not Lebanon General?”

“That’s what? Two hours away? Without traffic?”

Dean didn’t pay him any attention. He quickly dialed the hospital, and asked about a James Novak or a John Doe. There was no one on file matching Castiel’s description either in the ER or the morgue, but the receptionist admitted they were having issues with their network, and there were several people still being processed.

“Goddamit,” Dean slammed his fist on the table, seethed for a moment, then pulled a tazer out of the nearest weapons bag and headed down the hallway, brandishing it.

“Dean!”

His brother marched up to Jack’s door and pounded on it. They could hear a throaty female voice crooning about being hard done by a man and somebody stomping around. Finally Jack opened his door a sliver and peek out suspiciously.

“Listen up, Jack. Me and Sam have to go out. Cas is not here, so we’re leaving you alone and in charge of the bunker like a big boy.”

“We are?”

“I’m an adult!” Jack complained.

“You’re not even a year old, Jack,” Sam interjected.

“We’ll be back by tomorrow morning. In the meantime we’re trusting you to hold down the fort, ok? You lock yourself in, don’t go out, and if somebody tries to come in, you taze them.”

He shoved the weapon at Jack, who cradled it in his arms, trying not to use his palms. Dean gently guided his fingers so he could aim and press the trigger, albeit gingerly.

Jack  brightened up considerably. “Supermurgitroid!”

Dean squinted at him suspiciously. “Did you get into my collection of vintage ‘Busty Asian Beauties’ again?”

Caught like a deer in the proverbial headlights, Jack didn’t deny nor confirm. Dean pinched the bridge of his nose and took a calming breath. “There’s cans of Spaghetti-Os in the pantry, and a full tub of ice-cream in the freezer. If you finish it you _will_ be sick and I _will_ know. Above all, don’t use your powers while you’re alone. Got that?”

“Yeah, whatever. I could come with you,” Jack said petulantly.

“It’s just research, Jack, and lots of driving. It’s going to be pretty boring,” Sam soothed. “And, I suspect, very _unnecessary_ ,” he shot a look at Dean, who ignored him.

“Can we count on you to keep the bunker safe?”

Jack preened.

 _This is a bad idea_ , Sam thought.

Twenty minutes later they were loading the Impala in the garage, Jack observing them excitedly.

“We’ll be back by morning,” Sam told him.

“Tomorrow evening at most,” Dean added. “Certainly no more than two days. We’ll call you if we’re late.”

“Wait… you might be gone longer than that? Where’s Castiel?”

Dean slammed the trunk closed. Jack was looking at him anxiously now. “He’s coming back with us, don’t worry.”

 

* * *

 

Over the years Sam had endured Dean’s ‘creative driving’ too many times to count. Hell, he’d engaged in it himself more often than he’d care to admit. Recklessness and putting lives on the line was always part and parcel of the job, and sometimes staying in your lane in heavy traffic could quite literally make the body count soar, more immediately than any potential pile up.

But _that_ , Sam felt, was for emergencies. Castiel going quiet for half a day?

“Dude might just want some space, Dean.”

“Shut up.”

“And, he can take care of himself.”

“Yeah, you keep saying that.”

Dean slammed a cassette tape into the deck, and cranked the volume as high as it would go. Led Zep blared out of the speakers as the car, impossibly, squeezed between a truck and a minivan.

Sam braced himself in his seat as best as he could, aided by long practice, and indulged in a sulk. Why Dean had seen fit to drag _him_ out like this didn’t matter much anymore; they were going, and that was the end of it.

 _Cas, if you’re just minding your own business, heads up ‘cause we’re about to barrel right into it_ , Sam prayed. _Learn to tell Dean when you’re leaving, ok? That’s all I’m asking_.

They made it to the county hospital, unsurprisingly, in record time. They probably racked in a whole box-worth of speeding tickets, but their license plate wasn’t exactly tied to their real address. Or their real names.

Anyway.

Cas’s car was still on the premises. After driving around a little, they located it in the underground visitors’ parking lot, looking perfectly normal.

Dean had managed to descend into the cold rage Sam had witnessed time and again in the weeks between Cas’ latest death and resurrection. He methodically parked next to Cas’ car and strode purposefully, stone faced, to the morgue, where he breezed right in on the strength of an FBI badge and attitude, even though they weren’t wearing suits. He checked for himself all the corpses stored there, and when they didn’t find Cas, he swore under his breath and headed to the ER. Sam checked out the three cafeterias and the burn unit, thinking perhaps Cas had been seeking advice for Jack’s hands.

But he was nowhere to be found. Sam, despite himself, was starting to let Dean’s mood, which was edging out of anger and into anxiety, affect him.

“We’re sweeping the building. Meet me on the roof, we’ll work our way down.”

They found a bunch of smokers up top, oddly enough all clustered together. A group of health and admin workers, all listening intently to a woman in scrubs who kept pointing to the helicopter parked not far from them.

“And I’m telling you, I felt like _this presence_. Just as we were taking off. Only for a moment. And I thought ‘that’s your third shift talking, girl’, and I completely pushed it out of my mind.”

“But then the kid pulls through, and now you’re a believer?” a person in a suit, puffing on an electronic pipe, asked.

“Perhaps the tests at Lebanon General got mixed up,” interjected one with a lab coat.

“No, no, the heart defect had been detected in the first trimester. They had a C-section and surgery all lined up already, but the mother went into premature labor. I’m telling you, I thought the lungs were going to be impossible even before the heart got into it. I hate those situations.”

“Well, that’s NICU for you,” sympathized another one in scrubs. “So the lungs are holding? They’re not a problem?”

“Nothing is the problem! Echo, stats: healthiest premature baby I’ve ever held! I’m telling you, it’s like a brand new child! Back before we got here it was touch and go, and now the mother is nursing. Solve me _that_.”

The brothers shared a look, and headed back inside.

“Changeling?”

“Do changelings read as normal healthy human babies in medical exams?”

“I have no idea. I doubt there’s many cases in the literature. Demon deal?”

“Could be.” Dean took out his phone, then thought better of it. “Damn it.”

Sam glanced at him, bemused. “Yeah, Crowley _was_ useful in that respect, wasn’t he?”

Dean shook his head, scowling. “I keep forgetting-“

“So you think Cas found a case?”

“We can ask him when we find him. You know, ‘presence’ could mean ghost.”

“A healing ghost?”

They fell silent as they passed a few civilians in the hallway.

“Or witchcraft could do it.”

They found the NICU unit, which was predictably locked down, with rigorous admittance policies. They could spy an open floor plan inside, and relatively few people. No way to go in unnoticed. If Cas was there he had to be invisible. Dean prayed under his breath, but nothing happened.

“We either camp here and wait for the parents to come out, or we gotta find some scrubs and get in there.”

They drifted back down the hall, looking for supply closets. They rounded a corner. Toilets to one side, and one lone door opposite them. As they headed towards it, the door opened and Castiel stepped out.

He carefully closed the door behind him, holding on to the doorknob, and regarded them silently.

“The hell?” Dean strode right up to him and jammed his finger straight into the angel’s sternum. “Where have you been? And why the hell with the radio silence?”

“My phone is dead,” Cas grunted. “We need to get out of here before security sees me. Help me get to my car.”

“Whoa, whoa, whoa: slow down, Cas. What’s happening?”

“I’ll explain on the way. Now, will you help me or not?” he growled impatiently. He was drenched in sweat, his hair in a state of disarray that the brothers had long taught him was considered ‘unprofessional’ and would get him noticed. His eyes were red-rimmed and feverishly bright and, as they stood there glaring at one-another, Cas started shaking with the effort of holding on to the doorknob.

“What’s in there?”

“Nothing of import. Can we get going?”

Dean pried Cas’ hand off the door and opened it. It turned out to be a well-stocked supply closet, but otherwise empty. On the back of the door, low to the ground, was an angel-banishing sigil, ready to be activated.

“Cas…” Sam started, but before he could continue, Cas gave a sigh and slid down the wall to the floor in a sort of semi-controlled fall, completely exhausted.

“-are you under attack?”

“No. It was my contingency plan in case I were discovered before I could regain my strength and escape. I’m glad I didn’t have to use it. Or, I won’t _if you two’ll help me get out of here_.”

“All right, all right, we get the message,” Dean started to sound less pissed and more concerned. He offered Cas a hand up, but Cas shook his head.

“I can’t walk,” he admitted sheepishly. “I used the last of my reserves to listen for your approach and step out to meet you.”

“On it.” Sam walked back down the hall, and headed away from the NICU towards Obstetrics. He tailed a couple who were going in, one in a wheelchair and puffing like a champ while her partner was low-key freaking out, up to a room. In the chaos of relocating the woman to the bed while she battled an oncoming contraction, Sam absconded with the wheelchair.

When he made it back he found that Dean had dragged Cas inside the washroom and was trying to make him look more presentable while he held him propped up to the counter one-handed.

Cas thanked Sam and sank gratefully in the chair, nearly passing out with the relief. They hit the nearest elevator and headed straight for the underground parking lot.

In fits and starts, Cas came out with the whole story. How he was initially simply headed to Lebanon General for some hospital-grade burn lotion, and how once there he had heard the desperate prayer of a mother about to lose her baby. How he had tried to board the helicopter mid-flight, but found it too crowded and had to resort to follow with the car. How even that brief flight, paired with the healing he had performed once he had arrived, had wiped him out, to the point that he had become suddenly visible in the middle of the NICU.

“I wiped the memories of all those present- also an effort. But there’s security cameras, and I’m almost certain someone saw me.”

“ _Almost_ certain?”

“I think I heard a prayer… I’m not sure. By that point I was finding it difficult concentrating on anything. My priority was hiding until I could make it back on my own. I figured I needed about two days to recuperate, provided I didn’t have to use my Grace for anything else. Then you came.”

“You had the car.”

“Of course, I wouldn’t leave it: you gave it to me, Dean. But I couldn’t- I can’t drive yet.”

They headed to the Impala, which was parked in a less conspicuous spot.

“And you let your phone die while on a hunt? That’s a rookie mistake, Cas.”

“I wasn’t on a hunt. And it got fried when Jack gave me back my wings, I just… haven’t had the time to replace it yet.”

Per Dean’s insistence, they loaded Cas shotgun in the Impala. Sam made an executive decision and asked for Cas’ keys.

He was glad Cas was going to be all right and that he’d had, all things considered, something positive to call a win in his bag; he wasn’t even annoyed any longer that they’d driven through three counties to pick him up. But Dean was still a bundle of raw nerves, and frankly Castiel had brought it upon himself.

As far as Sam was concerned, it was practical and made tactical sense for him to take the other car, while the two of them could hash it out in the Impala.

Dean agreed immediately, and peeled out of the lot before Cas could offer his opinion on the matter. Sam shook his head and headed for the other vehicle, planning a leisurely drive back.

Dean texted him that he was taking the back road and avoiding the highway. On a whim, Sam followed his brother’s route, albeit at what he imagined was going to be a much slower pace.

After about an hour’s drive, on a stretch of deserted road cutting through a tall, dark fir forest, Sam saw the familiar shape of the Impala stopped to the side, at an angle.

Sam stopped at a safe distance. He took his gun and his angel blade, and stealthily stepped towards the black car. There were fresh skid marks on the road- Dean had hit the brakes and wrenched the car to the side, while doing considerable speed.

He could see Cas’ head, still in the passenger seat, leaning against the window, and what had to be Dean with his hands and his forehead resting on the steering wheel. There were hints of movement from both of them, so they weren’t dead, at least.

As Sam reached the tail of the car he heard the unmistakable sound of a deep, gut-wrenching _sob_.

He approached on the driver’s side, lowering his weapons, and peeked in the back windows. Cas silently met his eyes with a worried, anguished expression, but he was entirely dried eyed.

Dean was crying. Dean was ugly crying, his entire frame shaking with sob after sob that he was trying to muffle with his arms. He was so caught up in it that he hadn’t even noticed Sam.

Cas gave him a wordless, minute head-shake. Sam retreated. He took the car again, drove it to the front of the Impala, and then approached on foot in full view.

Dean stepped out of the Impala and tossed the keys at Sam.

“You drive her,” he growled. He hadn’t really succeeded in composing himself, red-faced and covered in snot as he was, but Sam didn’t call him on it. “I can’t. I just-“ He stopped himself from looking back at Castiel, squeezed his eyes while he shook his head and stormed to the other car. He peeled away the moment he was sitting in it.

Sam got in the Impala. Castiel, still looking like death warmed over, audibly worked his throat.

“I never mean to cause distress to your brother. Or to you, for that matter. And yet it seems that’s all I’ve been doing, lately.”

Sam sighed. So much for letting them hash it out on their own. He started the car, and started driving again himself.

“This was a long time coming, Cas, trust me. And it’ll be better for Dean, in the long run. We tend to bottle up everything, even if we know we shouldn’t… it’s an ingrained habit. And that’s not your fault. But you do need to understand that we care about you, and that means we worry when we don’t know for sure that you’re all right. We lead dangerous lives. We don’t have the luxury of hearing your prayers to know that you’re still alive and kicking.”

“Yes… Dean said something similar. I suppose I forget.”

“Forget?”

“I consider you my family, my kin. But I forget that you’re not like my brothers, you’re not angels. You’re human. I mean, _I know_ you’re human, but sometimes I just-“ he sighed, a desolate, lonely sound.

Neither of them spoke any further for the rest of the drive back.

 

* * *

 

When they reached the bunker’s garage they found Cas’ car already neatly parked in its usual spot. Jack came to greet them, in a really good mood, bouncing up and offering to help with unloading the car. Sam took his own duffel, and Cas declined a power-up, since Jack’s hands were still unhealed.

Sam was helping Castiel out of the car, assisted by Jack, when Dean appeared at the far door, looking somber and serious. He locked eyes with Sam and gave him a look that made Sam excuse himself immediately to go talk to his brother.

Jack was only too happy to make himself useful and escort Cas back into the bunker’s domestic quarters. He peppered Castiel with questions that the angel diligently, if tiredly, answered. As their chatter died off in the background, Sam asked Dean what was up.

“We have a problem,” Dean answered grimly.

 “Well, you know what Cas is like,” Sam tried.

“What? No, shut up,” Dean said a little too quickly, especially for someone whose voice still sounded wreaked from crying. “It’s Jack. Know what he gave me when I got back?”

He held out the tazer, and Sam took it. It looked perfectly normal and unused.

“Open it,” Dean instructed.

“It doesn’t-“ Sam protested, but Dean took it back and pulled on the barrel, which came right off.

“It’s… not supposed to do that, is it?”

“Nope. And check this out,” Dean showed him the inside: the wires were soldered solid, melted into an unusable mess.

“What did Jack say about it?”

“Nothing. I asked if there was any trouble while we were away, and he said, and I quote, ‘nope daddy-oh, everything cool’.”

“That’s…”

“A lie. A weirdly-phrased human-mimicking lie from an impossibly powerful supernatural creature. Remind you of anyone?”

Sam clicked his throat. He immediately thought of a white suit, an affected twang, and a Colonel Sanders-type mustache.

“I don’t believe it. How is _he_ even getting to Jack? We’re warded! Cas warded us tighter than anything!”

At the mention of Cas, Dean gave a shaky breath. “I dunno, man. Old Yellow Eyes and Lucifer both got to _you_ despite our best efforts. I wouldn’t be surprised if knock-off fast-food snake-oil salesman got his fucking hands on him somehow.” Frustration mounting, Dean mimed strangling someone. “Fucking… Fuckhands McMike.”

Sam raised his eyebrows. “Ok, there, let’s not jump to conclusions. Maybe Jack was just playing with the tazer and he broke it. As for the slang, that’s not even Southern. You said it yourself, he’s been looking through your sixties skin mags… apparently he actually _reads_ them.”

“Yeah, sideways,” Dean huffed, unconvinced. He passed a hand over his face, taking a quick look around to make sure they were still alone. “I don’t trust him. And I especially don’t trust him to stay safe. He’s angel enough to get into serious trouble on his own without telling us a goddamn thing. We need to keep a closer eye on him.”

Sam bit back a ‘are we still talking about Jack’ retort since he essentially agreed with Dean and he didn’t want the discussion derailed. Luckily he had just the thing.

“So you know how the Brits bugged the entire bunker,” he asked, taking out his phone and opening a password-protected app.

Dean’s lip curled, but he nodded.

“Before torching their place last June I did a little harvesting. I mean, the idea of remotely checking what was happening inside here seemed-“

“Creepy? Invasive?”

The phone emitted only static as Sam cycled through a list of rooms.

“Useful.”

“Wait… which rooms did you bug exactly?”

Sam pretended not to have heard him. Truth be told, there had been more than one instance in the past few months where he’d been grateful he could check up on his brother at a moment’s notice. He hadn’t mentioned it to Dean because… well, because.

With a final burst of static, the kitchen came through, loud albeit not entirely clear.

“-cannot help you there. I’ve recently discovered I understand even less about human emotions than I previously thought.”

Dean tensed next to him and looked away, but didn’t move.

Jack piped up over the feed. “You mean how Dean was upset when he came back and he didn’t want to say why?”

“No, I know why. Or at least, he told me. But I still have trouble understanding the scope of human feelings. As angels we either feel nothing, or a single, all-encompassing emotion. This mixture that Sam and Dean, and even you, have, it’s… confounding.”

There was the clinking of cutlery on ceramic for a bit, then “but it’s not that. I _understand_ what their feelings are. Sam is curious, and he says he wants to spend time with me, but I don’t think he actually likes me. And Dean avoids me a lot, and he’s tried to kill me in the beginning, but now he makes sure I’m taken care of, so maybe he doesn’t want to, but he likes me. A bit. And they’re both scared of me. You’re the only one I’m sure cares for me _and_ likes me _and_ isn’t afraid of it.”

“…you’ve come up with all of this on your own?”

“Atta boy, Cas,” Dean whispered.

But Jack didn’t admit to any supernatural tampering with his thoughts. He carried on, blithely candid. “I just want them to be more like you. Or maybe _I_ should just be more like you, they like _you_ a great deal.”

“We share a long history, Jack. I fought by their side for a lot longer than what you’ve known them for before they even conceived of me as an ally. I’m sure you can earn the same respect, it just takes time.”

“You think so?” Jack sounded really hopeful. “I mean, when you were dead they really missed you. Dean especially. I thought that was just the way he was, but then I brought you back and he changed completely. He hasn’t even talked about killing me _once_ since that. Maybe you don’t see it because when you’re with him he’s at his best, but when you’re away he’s really down.”

“You shouldn’t eat all of that ice-cream. You’re going to make yourself sick.”

“Oh, come on!” Dean interjected, looking at Sam for support. Sam shushed him.

But Jack had taken the hint, and changed the subject. “They hurt, don’t they? Your wings.”

The brothers shared a look. _That_ wasn’t something either of them had noticed.

“No, I wouldn’t say that. Not physically. Not in any way a human could feel. It’s a uniquely angelic feeling. Metaphysical. I can’t sustain them, you see. I don’t have enough Grace left, and what little there is, I have to stretch to the point of tearing to unfurl them and take flight.”

“I’m sorry. You shouldn’t do it, then.”

“It’s not your fault. And I only do it when necessary, certainly not for pleasure. I’ve learned to appreciate the slow pace of human transportation, the lull of a soundtrack, and companionship when travelling. You can’t have that on huh, angel taxi.”

Despite the subject, Sam could hear a smile in his voice. He tried to make eye contact with Dean again, but his brother avoided him studiously.

“I think I know what you mean. Like the fact that no one likes me. And that I’m the only one of my kind. Sometimes I think about it, and then I think about my mom and… it hurts. Not like my hands, but it still hurts.”

“I wouldn’t say you’re alone. Though, I’ll grant you, feelings are maddingly complicated.”

“I wish I couldn’t feel a thing.”

“It’s a sentiment I’m familiar with. But that would be casting away your human heritage. A human heart is what your mother left you.”

“It’s easy for you to say! You’re an angel!”

“Barely. It’s true that Grace mutes my feelings, and perhaps my understanding of others’… but I do feel. And if I could choose, believe me I’d take human emotion over the cold and uncaring distance of Heaven.”

“Why don’t you just get rid of your Grace, then?”

“I can’t. I’m needed, my powers are needed. I prefer being useful to the Winchesters, and to humans in general. And I have to protect you.”

“I don’t need protection. I can protect myself, and I could even protect the Winchesters for you!”

“I’m sure you could, Jack, but-“

“Yes I can! I didn’t tell Dean because I don’t want him to worry, but an angel got in while you were away. He attacked me and I vaporized him! All by myself!”

The brothers shared a grim look and started moving towards the kitchen.

“’Cause see? I’m a half-breed and you’re… huh that angel called us a lot of nasty things, I don’t want to repeat them. Anyway, we can pick sides, and you can be the human, and I can be the angel and protect everyone!”

“Jack, what are you-“

The static overwhelmed the line, and then abruptly cut off. Sam and Dean sprinted off. Sam could feel the inaudible waves of angel shrieking making his teeth vibrate in his skull. As they rounded the corner at full speed, they saw light pouring out of the kitchen door. Squinting, they pushed forward, calling both Cas and Jack at the top of their lungs.

Inside the room they found Jack standing over Cas, yellow eyes alight and holding in his hands strand upon strand of angelic Grace, shiny and finely spun like blue gossamer. The filaments still connected to Cas’ eyes and mouth, which were alight with his true form. The Grace was unraveling in Jack’s hands, who looked up in horror at the brothers, frozen on the spot.

With a pained cry, Cas materialized his blade and cut the filaments in one stroke. The light on his part dissolved, while the one in Jack’s hands pulsed once and then began to rot, turning dark and gooey like Leviathan ichor. Jack, panicking, tried to drop it, but it permeated his damaged hands, and then disappeared under his skin. Unlike other times, the light in his eyes wasn’t fading.

Dean went immediately to Cas, supporting him and checking him out, leaving Sam, once again, to deal with the larger concerns.

With his hands raised, and trying not to spook him, he approached the Nephilim, now cowering in front of the sink. “Jack? What did you do?”

“That was bad,” Jack whispered, aghast. “I had no idea-“ he looked up then, eyes blazing. “You wanted to do that to me before I was even born! Did you know that’s what removing Grace is like?? Do you even _care_?”

“It’s different! A different process! I went through it myself-“

“You’ve never cared!” Jack accused with a wail. “Nobody cares about me! You all hate me! My mom is dead! My dad is gone!”

“Join the fucking club, kid!” Dean yelled, still crouching over Cas, who wasn’t entirely conscious.

“No!” Jack retorted, releasing one of his energy waves, knocking Sam on his ass. “I don’t have to! You can’t make me! And if you want me gone, then fine! I know where there’s someone who wants me and who can understand me!”

With a burst of energy that made his nose bleed, Jack opened a rift, identical to the one of the day of his birth.

Sam called him one last time, and Jack spared a moment to look back at him. Instead of a terrifying super-powered abomination, he looked like a lonely, lost boy who didn’t belong anywhere. “I’ve got to find my dad,” he declared, just as he touched the portal and disappeared.

Sam cautiously approached the rift. Following Jack blind wasn’t a good idea, but they couldn’t let him get too far or they’d lose him.

“Don’t,” said Cas, getting up with Dean’s assistance. “That’s a hellmouth. We need to find a way to ward it before anything on the other side discovers it.”

“Meaning what, exactly?”

“Meaning,” said Dean, picking up Castiel’s blade and flipping it to hand it back hilt-first, “that we’re calling in the reinforcements, we’re getting Jack back, and we’re saving the world.” He took out his cell and placed a call. “Jody? We’ve got work to do.”

 


End file.
